


Welcome Home

by ToWhomItMayConcern



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Half awake and goofy Reader, Language, Smut, Soft sex, Unprotected Sex, a smidge of angst, flufff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27215080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToWhomItMayConcern/pseuds/ToWhomItMayConcern
Summary: After many sleepless nights (and one missed text), Bucky is finally home.
Relationships: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader, Bucky Barnes/Reader, Bucky Barnes/You, James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Kudos: 118





	Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> I am STRUGGLING to get back in the game. Love you all. 
> 
> Tumblr: @aint-that-a-mcfreakin-bitch

The bed feels too big without him. 

It’s normal to feel this way on most lonely nights, when Bucky has to be away on a mission—not like he _isn’t_ saving the world or anything, but after two years of sleeping next to his heavy but familiar weight, it’s hard to fall asleep without it. What’s worse is that you can’t rest your head over his heartbeat or crawl into his warm, open arms, or kiss that little pout on his lips. 

You even begin to miss the array of clothes spread out on a pile in the corner of the room that he always claims he’ll get to when they start to smell—as much as you want to kill him for it, you sincerely miss it now. 

The blocky red numbers glare at you from where it sits on your nightstand, reminding you for the hundredth time that this is the fifth night in a row of tossing and turning and it’s four in the morning. Your body is fatigued but your mind anxious and relentless; he hasn’t texted like he promised he would, like how it’s been on nearly every mission, and maybe it’s because of the fact that he’ll be home tomorrow, _not_ because he’s—

“Stop,” you whisper to yourself. 

You let out a deep sigh and flop onto your back—the ceiling still has the same color and the small crack that keeps you fixated for a decent amount of time. Not even the running box fan or the low volume of your tv is doing anything to appease your unsettling thoughts. At this point, you don’t want to get up at all, not even to pee… no, you really need to go. 

The bathroom is just as cold as the bedroom feels and it makes you want to cry; you won’t, but it’s close. The slight chilly air stings your bare feet as they paddle across the floor, sitting up this time on your bed and snatching the remote with a huff. You flip through the channels mindlessly, barely paying attention to the titles—titles that you’ve already seen a thousand times—while slumping against the pillows with the hope that SpongeBob SquarePants will be the final solution to your sleeping problem. 

You become so engrossed in the cartoon that you don’t notice the creak of your house door, or the soft plop of a bag on the floor, nor the light steps making their towards your room until the handle jiggles rather loudly for someone who’s trying to sneak around; Bucky still underestimates his own strength on some days, like this one. 

When the door starts to slowly open you curse yourself for not being more attentive, and try to remember with stiff muscles where that stupid knife Bucky gave you is…

“Shit,” the intruder curses. “Sorry, doll. Did I wake ya?”

The gruff whisper—twinged with a light Brooklyn accent—echoes across the room and straight to your chest, your heart stuttering a beat at the realization; the ocean gray eyes meets yours with a tired but exciting glint that equally matches the one in yours and that beautiful, _beautiful_ full smile greets you like _home_. 

“Bucky!” You squeal quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace, opening your arms out wide for him. “You’re home.”

He chuckles and closes the door behind him, slipping his gloves off, the two or maybe three shirts (armor, padding, whatever it is) he easily shrugs off, then his socks and pants, leaving him in a tank top and boxers. You wait patiently, all the while checking for any new scrapes and bruises or any signs of injury in his expression; so far so good. 

The mattress dips under his fists as he leans over to give you a kiss; it’s short, just a quick peck that leaves you whining for more. Instead, he smiles again and rubs the tip of his nose affectionately against yours. 

“I missed you,” his breath ghosts over your lips. 

You cup his face, his light stubble scratching your skin, and pull him towards a longer, deeper kiss. He moans faintly into the kiss and dips the rest of his weight on the bed, curling into you instinctively; he fits against you like your puzzle piece, and when you lie down he follows fluently, careful of not laying all of his weight on you—as much you really _want_ him to squish you. 

“I missed you more,” you say in between kisses, wrapping your legs around his waist. “So—” the loud smack of your lips against his cheek raises a lovely chorus of giggles from the both of you. “—so much! But how?”

Bucky understands. “Caught the guy earlier than expected. Got back at the compound, took a shower—”

“And you didn’t text me, asshole!”

“Aw,” he drawls in a pitch, teasing your ribs with feather-like caresses. “I’m sorry baby. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

He seals his promise with a kiss, not wasting any time in slipping his tongue along the seams of your lips; you grant him access, swirling his tongue with yours. You moan and, without even realizing what you’re doing, slant your hips up, arching yourself into his touch. His hands slide down your body, memorizing every detail of your curves while continuing the dirty, sensual kiss; you then feel the half-hard bulge grinding steadily against your core, but you nor Bucky comment on it. 

He’s the first one to pull back. Bucky doesn’t say a word, and so neither do you, just taking in each breath that leaves his lungs through an exhale, every inch of muscle that rests and moves against yours, and suddenly it feels like you can actually _sleep_ now. 

“Pretty girl,” he murmurs, using the tip of his pointer finger to trace the circles under your eye. “Having trouble sleeping again?”

“I always do when you’re gone,” you mumble back, closing your eyes since he mentioned it. 

He starts to move but you latch onto him before he can fully sit himself up, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying his face in your neck. 

“Baby,” he giggles, moving his hands to your hips. 

“I still have to welcome you home, soldier,” you purr and run your fingers through his soft, short hair. 

You grind back at his still hips, grinning goofily at the sigh that escapes his lips. “C’mon, I want to.” Another slow grind, harder than before. “I wanna feel that thick cock fill me up so _good_ , been too long, daddy.”

The breath hitches audibly in his throat, his eyes growing dark and glazed. “You sure?” He asks, because he’s the perfect gentleman as always. “It looks like you can barely keep your eyes open, sweetheart.”

“Not uh.” To prove your point, you open your eyes as wide as they can go. Bucky laughs with a shake of his head that tells you, _‘I love you, you fucking goofball’_. 

You lean up to catch his slightly chapped lips, and reach down to pull your shorts and panties off; Bucky breaks the kiss to look, groaning at the sight of your glistening pussy. You palm him through the thin fabric of his boxers, giving him a light squeeze. 

He buckles against your hand. “Fuck,” he hisses, then chuckles. “It really has been too long.”

“So,” you quickly slip your shirt over your head, reveling in the way his eyes immediately latch on your breasts. “ _Fuck_ me.”

Bucky finally gives in with a moan, bumping his forehead against yours for a rushed but heated kiss that leaves goosebumps on your skin. You waste no time in pulling his boxers down, licking your lips at the sight of his twitching cock. 

“ _Oof!_ ”

His entire weight topples on you in his haste to pull his shirt off, crushing the air out of your lungs; he mumbles an unintelligent apology against your open mouth. 

Metal rests against the slope of your ass as the other lines himself at your entrance, looking in your eyes for your approval. You nod, too excited and trembling with anticipation. His lips are once again back on yours, the bulbous tip of him nudging through your folds and circling your clit, teasing you with a knowing smirk as you kiss.

Before you can scold him he pushes in, stretching you slowly to the brim until his balls rest at the slope of your backside; it’s a little painful, but the burn is a bonus to the increasing pleasure you feel by him just being inside you.

“Oh fuck,” you gasp through gritted teeth, clutching his biceps with a tight grip. He answers with a nip to your breast, circling his tongue around the perk nipple before completely latching his mouth onto the sensitive mold; his teeth lightly scrapes you, making your body jolt and pussy flutter around him—shit, it really has been too long for the both of you. 

You tighten your legs around him, enveloping yourself in his heat, not wanting to bear the coldness that plagued you in his absence. 

“Good?” He croaks from your chest, already sounding breathless. 

“ _Please_.”

He settles himself more comfortably between your legs and pulls back until only the tip is inside, plunging back in with a hard, punctuated thrust that heaves your body upwards. A choked sigh scrapes your throat, your hands splayed out on his back, feeling every muscle continue to move and slither; chaste kisses litter your neck with every thrust, hard and steady and _deep_. 

“Buck.”

“I know,” he says. His metal hand cups your cheek, holding your gaze—you’re doing your best to keep your eyes open, but you don’t know how much longer that’ll last. “You feel so good, princess. So good, so _fucking_ good.”

You lift your hips to meet his, feeling the coil in your lower stomach building and tightening and getting hotter and hotter—

“Fuck Bucky right there!” You moan wantonly, shifting your body so he can hit your sweet spot again. 

“I got ya,” he rubs your back before pushing your lower half up so he can keep you exactly where he wants you, not once breaking the rhythm you can now so easily create. 

His cock continues to bring you undeniable euphoria, scratching against every little itch you have and angling his pelvis so that it grinds against your aching clit, giving you the extra stimulation you need. He kisses you until you have no more air to give, nips and bites at you until there’s marks, caresses your body with a touch only a lover can understand, fucks you so _right_ and smooth that you can feel every vein and ridge of his cock; thank _fuck_ he’s home. 

His hips move a little faster, no doubt starting to feel the edge of his climax. As if to prove your point, his hand—the one that was one your cheek—reaches up to grip the top of the headboard, using the pull to push himself somehow deeper into you; like he’s trying to crawl into your body and take shelter where he knows he’s _safe_. 

“Y-yeah, shit B-Buck keep going!” You stammer in between thrusts. Your pussy flutters harder around him, making him squeeze his eyes tightly shut and curse under his breath. 

“Me too, pretty girl,” he growls, looking down at you like you’re the most beautiful piece of art he’s ever seen, and in his eyes you _are_. “Gonna cum with me?” Your cunt clenches around him. “ _Goddamn_ baby—” (holyfuckingshit the way he just whimpered has your entire back arching and more juices gushing from your core). “—forgot how tight you are.”

It’s too much now, the friction heating your entire core until it feels like your whole body is on fire, about to implode at any second. Your moans and whimpers spur him on even more, now slamming his hips until the sound of skin against skin—and the sloshes of his dick pounding into you—echoes loudly in the room. 

“Bucky I’m gonna come.”

“I feel you,” he grunts. “Come around my cock, babygirl. C’mon, I wanna feel it, sweet girl.” 

Your legs tremble and shake as your orgasm approaches you, clouding your mind with a fog and filling your vision with white; you’re so lost in the spasm of your pussy, the thumb now rubbing your clit in tight circles, and the growls and whimpers that he’s doing _nothing_ to hide, that when your cunt squeezes him like a vice, the scream that follows does no shame to the gruff grunts and groans lapping with your vocals. 

Bucky fucks you through your orgasm, your sensitive pussy continuing to flutter around him. It’s like you’re being shocked by bolts with the way your body spasms beneath him, taking everything he’s giving you and more until you’re nothing but a puddle at his bidding; every nerve feels shot and abused, but it’s not complete until he fills you up. 

“Christ doll I’m coming,” he growls from his chest, sending shivers through you. You clench your pussy around him and… and he gasps like you just _punched_ him in the gut and suddenly hot spurts of cum fill your pussy in thick, hot ropes. 

With one final, hard thrust he collapses on top of you. The air is thick and slick with the air of sex, skin glistening in the soft light of the tv that’s still playing the same cartoon. His chest rises and falls with yours as you catch your breaths, holding each other. 

Bucky is usually the first to recover. He raises his head and gives you a tired, goofy smile before kissing you; he uses the distraction to carefully pull out of you, the chill of the air brushing against the combined juices covering your pussy and inner thighs. You grumble with a scrunch to your eyebrows that makes him giggle. 

“Hang on.”

He gets out of the bed with a heavy sigh that comes with age—you like to tease him about it every now and then—and flicks the light to the bathroom on, leaving the door ajar. The sound of running water is faint to your ears, the exhaustion of the week settling in on you heavily. The rattles from the bathroom fade with the stress, into comfortable white noise...

The cold, wet cloth makes you jump with a whine (did you actually fall asleep for a minute there?). Bucky shushes you gently from where he sits, gently cleaning you up before throwing the washcloth towards the corner of the room—yes, _his_ corner. 

Your arms blindly reach for him, your eyes still closed. You hear him turn the tv off and shuffle around until the covers are being pulled back and he slides in, making sure you’re both completely covered. He crawls into your embrace, laying his head in the crook of your neck and tangling his legs with yours. 

“I love you,” you whisper groggily. 

“I love you, too,” he says back with ease. 

A few moments of silence pass, and just before you reach the land of dreams, one silly little thought brings you back. 

“Bucky?”

A minute. 

“What?”

“Welcome home.”


End file.
